The Ka

by Mary Deal

  “Must be important,” Chione said. She had been working at her tiny desk, transcribing more of Bebe's notes into her laptop. She barely had time to push the computer out of the way before Bebe scattered a handful of photographs in front of her. “What are these?” she asked.

  “Ginny photographed these before they were sent to the Madu. Read them. Can you read them?” She pulled up a woven reed stool that creaked as she sat down.

  The photos were of papyrus pieces. Each photograph had been marked on the back with the location or vessel in which the papyrus was found. “I saw the record of these when I was logging. What's so special?”

  “Read… read.” Bebe was so excited she could barely get the words out. She rummaged through the photographs. “This one first.”

  Chione held the photo close and wished the lighting in her yurt could have been brighter. The photograph was a close up of the writing on the papyrus. She began to sound out the hieroglyphs. Finally, she put the words together in English.

  Drink, drink of this potion

  Restore yourself to health

  Put the spell in motion

  Good health is newfound wealth

  “These are spells,” Bebe said. “That one. That would work for me.”

  “For you?”

  “Don't you see? It's a spell for better health. For my female problems,” she said. “My love life with Kenneth is non-existent because of my menopausal problems. Hell, I've had monthly problems all my life.”

  “But what's this got to do with—”

  “Tauret's spells. That's how she healed women. I have to try it. That's why I brought these.” She reached into the bag and produced an Egyptian drinking goblet, a modern Egyptian saucer from the cook tent, a vial looking to contain oil and another of black powder, a writing stick, and blank strips of papyrus.

  Chione could only watch a desperate woman taking desperate measures. She looked at Bebe's Egyptian hairdo and felt another chill. The discovery of the tomb was affecting Bebe. They were all being affected by the Priestess's spells. “How can these help you?” she asked, motioning to the materials on her desk.

  “I can't write hieroglyphs, Chione. Please, please, write the spell for me.”

  “Can't write hieroglyphs?” Chione laughed and picked up one of Bebe's tablets. “What do you call this?” Bebe's notes looked more like shorthand. Or hieroglyphs. And Chione had even been able to understand Bebe's scribbling!

  Bebe ignored being shown her own talent. “Please?” she asked again.

  “Me?”

  “You know how they used to do spells in the old days. They mixed lampblack with oil and wrote the spells on papyrus, then stuck the papyrus in the water till the ink mixed. Then they drank.”

  As incredulous as it sounded, Bebe sat there expecting her to go along with it. “You need to think this over,” she said.

  “I've thought about it. I'm doing this, whether or not you help me,” she said. “You're the only one I'd turn to. I even had a feeling you're supposed to be the one to write the spell.”

  The lights flickered off and on, an eerie prognosticator, but symbolic it was. Chione interpreted it as a sign to go ahead with Bebe's plan. “So where did you get the papyrus?” she asked.

  “I had Siti get some for me. It's real stuff.”

  “Okay,” Chione said, still a little hesitant. “We don't have lampblack.”

  “Charcoal,” Bebe said, picking up the vial of black powder. “And cooking oil.”

  Bebe reached for Chione's bottle of mineral water on the desk and poured some into the goblet. “Please Chione, please write the glyphs.”

  Chione felt great empathy. Bebe was clearly being affected by the discovery and in her time of need, chose her to befriend. Chione felt compelled and pulled the saucer to her and began to stir the charcoal and oil together with the writing stick. Bebe sat motionless, even seemed to hold her breath. When the writing was done, Chione gestured to the papyrus. Once completed, it would be best that only the person drinking the potion touch the papyrus, but how had she known that?

  Bebe stuck the length of papyrus into the goblet and stirred it around as they both watched the hieroglyphs dissolve and dye the water. Then Bebe looked for the trash pail and threw the damp papyrus into it.

  They both sat motionless staring at one another. Finally, Bebe said, “Hold my hands, please. I'm shaking so badly.”

  They sat knee-to-knee and held hands. Chione realized at that moment that she loved Bebe. For all the things this woman stood for, they could not define all that Bebe stoically held inside.

  Suddenly Chione was not seeing Bebe but a woman of Ancient Egypt with her beautiful hair and wonderful presence who was about to lose her husband. “Drink now,” Chione said. She could not determine if Bebe heard the foreign echo on her words. Even Chione was jolted back into the moment by the accent.

  Bebe picked up the goblet with both hands and, without her usual proper table manners, gulped, until all the murky fluid was gone. Then the lights flickered again and went completely out. A lot of disappointed voices came from around the campsite as everyone complained. Then the lights flickered several times, finally staying lit.

  When Bebe sat the goblet down, Chione thought Bebe would break into tears. She looked to be losing her composure. Finally Bebe straightened, as if something had come over her. Her expression returned to her usual one of no nonsense and self-assurance. She sighed. “Now we wait, and I'd better get this goblet back into Inventory before someone misses it.”

  “Bebe, you didn't,” Chione said, though smiling.

  “I wanted this to be real. It just seemed right to use one of Tauret's goblets.” She wiped out the vessel with tissues from her pocket, and then gently placed the precious artifact back into her bag. “I'd better go,” she said, disappearing quickly through the fly.

  Dazed by Bebe's sudden behavior, Chione sat quietly for a moment. Bebe trusted her. Trusted her so much, she did not have to remind her not to tell anyone else. Bebe trusted her. And why shouldn't Bebe try the spell? Who knew if it worked its magic in ancient times? In today's world, many things worked simply by the fact that people had faith in them.

  The photos in front of her invited attention. She had not seen the actual papyri before they were shipped. She studied each one, deciphering the meanings. They were spells for all kinds of female maladies. She quickly read the spells in the rest of the photos. Then she jolted upright in her chair. Had she read right? She picked back through the photos and found the one with a curious message that stuck in her mind. Her hands shook as she sounded out glyphs, translating to English, and finally putting together the meaning.

  Drink, drink of this potion

  It is more than mild

  Put the spell in motion

  You will bear a child

  Chione dropped the photo and sat up rigid in her chair. A spell for childbearing! Bebe had taken a chance on her spell and it was too soon to know if it had taken positive affect, if any. Yet, here was a spell Chione could use. If only she could believe. Bebe did. Bebe believed. If nothing happened to clear her menopausal malaise, no one but she and Bebe would be the wiser. And she would discreetly console Bebe if it did not work. She definitely would.

  She looked at all the components needed to write the spell and carry it through. She looked at the photo again and read the symbols. She had to make sure they said what she thought they did and that nothing was lost in her translation to English.

  The hour was late. Electrical lighting flickered all over camp. Lights in some tents were off, signifying some had given up working in the dark and gone to bed. Chione found herself inside the inventory tent. She knew what she had to do and did not wish to be mistaken for a thief.

  The lights flickered again. She strained to read the inventory lists inside the poorly illuminated tent. She heard footsteps outside. She did not hear voices but the footsteps went first in one direction then another, stopping near the tent flap. It sounded as if they mig
ht enter. She dropped down behind a large crate. But what was she afraid of? Her plan had made her a little paranoid. She did not want to be caught inside the tent at that hour although no one would think much of it since she always worked late. When the footsteps went away from the tent, she stood and quickly opened a nearby box and retrieved a small delicate blue faience bowl and left.

  Back inside her yurt, she sat down at her desk and placed the bowl aside. Her heart pounded both from having secretly taken a bowl from Inventory and because of what she felt compelled to do.

  After calming, she slowly pulled a new strip of papyrus off the stack as the raw edged pieces clung together. She picked up the writing stick to stir the charcoal and oil mixture and had to steady her hand before attempting to write the glyphs. As she wrote, she felt herself slip back in time to ancient Egypt. She was becoming Tauret! As if enveloped in a bubble of light, she sat at a beautifully carved writing table, conjuring a spell. For herself. She did not wish to lose the admiration of her beloved Pharaoh who desperately longed for a son. She had much to offer her King. Surely others too numerous to mention had or were casting spells to put themselves into the graces of Pharaoh. Her spell would be the strongest yet.

  When the writing was done and the papyrus swilled in the bowl, in ancient tones, she said, “Pharaoh shall have an heir, a boy child!” Then she held the papyrus to the side of the bowl and drank till she had consumed every last drop of the fluid.

  She placed the fragile bowl onto the desktop and slowly came back into the moment until Chione realized what she had done. She began to whimper. Tears ran down her face. If only she could have a baby. Aaron's child. She really did love him. As if to seal the deed, she grabbed up the piece of damp papyrus and ate it.

  The lights flickered off again and never came back on. In total darkness, she stripped off her clothes, sensually, one piece at a time, as if readying herself for Pharaoh. For Aaron. Then she felt her way in the dark to her cot and lay in a fetal position, hugging her belly, till she finally fell asleep.

  The next morning as Chione headed for Inventory, excited voices came from inside the tent. She heard Kendra say, “It was Tut's bowl. It's gone.”

  Dr. Withers asked, “How do you know it was Tut's bowl? Is it the only thing missing?”

  Chione knew they were talking about the bowl she took. The thought that the bowl was Tutankhamon's was shocking. She examined the beautiful faience artifact and saw no real markings to show that it belonged to Pharaoh. Then she turned it over. There on the bottom was Tutankhamon's cartouche. Again, she shook and waited till she knew she would be able to speak. Finally, she entered the tent. “Hey, I have the bowl,” she said. “I took it last night to study it and when the lights went out… I-I didn't want to try to bring it back in the dark. You know. If I tripped and this thing cracked—”

  “Good thinking,” Clifford said. He looked utterly relieved. “Glad it was with you.” He accepted the bowl and turned it over. “If I may say so, looks like this was one of Tut's lavish gifts to Tauret.”

  Later, Bebe pulled her aside. “I'm glad you did your spell.”

  “How did you know?”

  “That's why I left the photos and all the other stuff. I knew there was a spell for you. I just wasn't sure you'd try it.”

  “You're devious,” Chione said, smiling.

  “And you drank your spell out of Tut's bowl. Should that mean anything?”

  18

  Considering the strange events and trances of the night before, work went well during the daytime as the sun slipped past and tinted the ever-changing hues of the sky. The beautiful evenings had become symbolic of her shifts in consciousness.

  Alone, Chione succumbed willingly that evening in the Pillared Hall. The scene began opening out even as she was yet conscious. Tauret appeared and offered her hand and when Chione floated to meet her and their hands touched, they merged.

  In the Sanctuary of the Priestesses, candles flickered and incense wafted on smoke that floated to the ceiling in ever-widening spirals of white haze. Linen fabric panels hung, normally to block the daytime sun but still allow in the light. At night, they held back gusts of wind and sand through the bare windows, and allowed the air to circulate.

  She stood naked. Handmaidens had arranged her hair, which had been washed and cleaned of the wax from her perfumed cone. Her face had already been drawn, but with lighter shades of kohl to accent her sculptured features at nighttime, when heavier lines were not needed to deflect the sun's rays. With fingertips, two handmaidens flicked perfume from small bowls over her body. Others prepared her clothing then draped her in fine see-through linen. The edges of her garment were bordered with glittering jewels and shimmering pure gold threads. Pleats fell below calf-length. The cloth came together from over her shoulders to under her bare breasts and emphasized their suppleness. Her dark nipples stuck straight out. She wore nothing else and was barefoot. She was handed a mirror of reflective polished silver and saw that she looked the best she ever had. All the handmaidens departed leaving her completely alone in the middle of the room on a smooth stone floor.

  While exiting, the handmaidens extinguished most of the candles. Drums began to softly beat. The rhythm infiltrated her being. From somewhere in the dark recesses of the chamber came soft tones of a harp, lyre and double flute. Almost immediately, like her heart, the tempo quickened. Minor priestesses danced into the room, clad only in sheer skirts. They were young, with immature breasts and sparse pubic hair.

  Tauret began to sway, slowly at first, in unison with the priestesses whose choreographed movements seemed to throw all energy in her direction. As if to shake loose all hesitation, all pretenses, she allowed the beat to carry her into a more physical dance, even into a mystical state.

  Other priestesses had danced as she now did, as they prepared to meet their lovers. Now she danced, but only in hope that the one she loved might one day recognize her. She had cast spells and intoned strong incantations. All she could do was wait. Her spells had brought others the love they sought. Would they also work for the enchantress herself? Her reputation would come under scrutiny if she could not help the High Priestess of all. The spells for her had included much more than she had conjured for anyone else. Only one person could achieve the goals she sought to attain.

  She danced, set her feelings free interpreting the music, matching the tempo of the drums as it increased. The priestesses snaked around her and reached out as if desiring to touch her. Their dance became frantic and sensual. In the center of it all, she matched them movement for movement, an integral interpretation of the overall spell. The pace of the drumbeat intensified till she thought she would exhaust all energy. At times she imagined she and Pharaoh swaying together as two cobras wrapped ropelike in a ritual-mating dance. Other times she felt only as if she wanted to throw her body towards her beloved. She spread her legs, bent her knees and undulated, while her arms beckoned. She imagined her beloved thrusting his body toward her and yearned for them to connect. She was lost in the moment and continued to dance suggestively and sensually, expressing passion and breathing heavily and perspiring till her skin glowed.

  Just when she thought she could not last another moment, the drumbeat slowed. She collapsed to her knees on the floor and rested, curled up, breathing heavily with her head down and hands outstretched together in front of her. She heard a rustling and sat up. From somewhere appeared candles in the darkness that converged and lit up an alcove. Servants pulled back the door drapes and stood rigid with heads bowed as Pharaoh walked in! The minor priestesses fell to the floor, arms outstretched on both sides of his pathway. He stood with arms folded across his chest. Wearing sandals, he carried a crook and flail, wore a regal headdress and only a white pleated kilt around his hips.

  A manservant appeared and accepted the crook and flail. That meant Pharaoh intended to stay! His shadow fell across the bowed priestesses as he approached, and one by one they scampered from the room, as did the musicians, till
Tauret was left alone with no one to come to her aid.

  The minor priestesses had known of her desire to invade Pharaoh's heart. She had, after all, been his confidant, his friend of friends, and he always studied her with thankfulness in his eyes.

  Tauret had thrown her entire being into the dance because she could only think of her King. She had no idea how her magic might work. She could only wonder how her incantations affected him. Or if an envious rival had apprised him of her spells and now he meant to put an end to them.

  Tauret did not hesitate. Sensual feelings and thoughts still consumed her. She remained bent and put her face to the floor at his feet.

  Pharaoh did not move. Finally, he said, “Rise, my Tauret.”

  She stood and he seemed entranced, full of intention. He scooped her up into his arms and walked out of the room, into a courtyard, and down a long promenade. She could only study the face of her King as he carried her the great length of the building without effort. The slapping of his sandals with each of his sturdy footsteps echoed the beat of her heart. The breeze blew her flimsy skirt up over his shoulder. If he had chosen to have her done away with, being carried to her death by her beloved was worth the price. Yet, how sad it would be that the rest of her conjuring could not be carried out. She had more to give him, had intoned to the gods in his behalf, and beseeched them for the one thing he wanted most.

  Finally, they entered a chamber. Oil burned and light flickered from beautifully carved calcite lamps. Red mashrabia panels decorated the area around the soft woven reed bed, covered with sumptuous tapestries and pillows. Flowers filled every vessel and lotuses floated in bowls. Incense wafted. In one graceful swoop, Pharaoh laid her down on the cot. He paused only to remove his headdress and place it on a small table to the side. He kicked out of his sandals, and as he lay down beside her, removed and unceremoniously cast aside his kilt.